


Hawks of Nephthys

by mokiwrites



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), IronStrange - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, Established Relationship, Found Family, Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Stephen Strange Needs a Hug, Whump, maybe a little more than implied, poetic smut, this hurt me so much to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 10:13:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18009008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mokiwrites/pseuds/mokiwrites
Summary: The universe is restored with The Snap reversed, but Stephen's world has fallen apart because of it.It was the only way.





	Hawks of Nephthys

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GrimRevolution](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrimRevolution/gifts).



> Soooo this was an experiment to write whump for the first (and last) time as well as try out a style of writing my bff Grim uses which is more prose and poetry and lots of emotion. It's surprisingly difficult, but fun to play with.  
> Heavily inspired by the song i listen to on a daily basis:  
> [Sleeping At Last - Saturn](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dzNvk80XY9s&feature=youtu.be)

     Stephen gasped in a ragged lungful of air—real, actual oxygen—and fell bonelessly to his knees. Though he had felt it thousands of times before, there was something about being unmade and put back together again that made his stomach flip and skin crawl as though he didn’t belong in it. He bent forward and braced his hands against the ground, fingers curling in the soft blades of damp grass.

     The Cloak’s comforting weight settled around his shoulders like the warm embrace from a long lost friend. Freshly turned earth, broken grass, and ozone flooded his nose with each new breath, steadily grounding him back into reality. Laughter tumbled ungracefully from his mouth and he allowed himself to collapse against the ground and roll onto his back. Beautiful blue bashfully peeked through the gray rainclouds lazily passing by, promising the sweet warmth of sunshine again.

_He really did it._

     Chuckles bubbled and spilled out uncontrolled. The smile that spread wide hurt his face.

     Stephen was _alive_ which meant so, too, were the trillions of others.

_He actually, really did it._

     His laughter hitched, lungs stuttering and a painful lump leaping into his throat. Hearty chortles degraded into broken sobs, arms raising and crossing over his face.

 

_He did it._

* * *

_He’d almost forgotten how the stars actually looked after so many years of their light being drowned out by the city. In the dark and quiet solitude of Upstate, however, they shined brilliantly and bathed both of them in a ghostly glow. There was none better to bear witness to their love than the infinite cosmos above, and Stephen breathed out his gratitude as lips fell to his neck. Hands grasped at bare flesh, their tremble the last thing from his mind as he pulled their bodies impossibly closer together. Pale legs wrapped around Tony’s hips and rough, strong fingers fluttered down his ribs, bit down into a firm hold against his hip. Stephen’s head fell back against the plush quilt spread upon the ground and lips parted to utter prayers to the Heavens above in a chorus of moans._

 

_How lucky were they to not only exist, but at the same time as one another, Stephen thought as sighs spilled hot against his mouth._

_Two bodies made of the same starstuff coming together again after millions of millennia, searing with the heat of a supernova._

 

_Short of breath from their worship, Stephen simply watched Tony as he caught desperately needed air in compromised lungs. Dark eyes reflecting the twinkle of stars turned to him and a smile crinkled their corners._

_“What’s that look for?”_

_Stephen sighed, that infectious smile spreading to his own lips._

_“Just thinking how the universe was made to be seen by your eyes.”_

* * *

     It was easy to be blinded by the magnificence of the supernova and forget a star had to die for it.

* * *

     Stephen woke without realizing he had passed out in the first place. Old vellum and leather, incense and tea greeted his senses and Stephen knew he was within the walls of the Sanctum once again. He was home at long last.

     No, not home. Home was gone.

     Muscle memory and habit had him reaching across the bed to delight in a warm body beside him only to find a vast ocean of cold and empty space. Fingers clutched at the sheets like the pain that grasped his heart in its sharp talons.

 

     A weight settled into the mattress and for half a heartbeat Stephen had foolish hope and wrenched his face out of the pillows. Wong’s face twisted into apologetic sympathy.

     “I am sorry, Stephen.” It was, perhaps, the gentlest he had ever heard Wong’s voice, but it reminded him far too much of his colleagues in the past. The kind of gentle only used after calling Time of Death. The kind of gentle when the ruined scrubs come off and the blood is washed away from numb hands. The kind of gentle for breaking the news to loved ones.

     A single gossamer thread of hope snapped and each end set fire, burning to fine ash in seconds.

     “It was the only way,” Stephen echoed a phantom of himself.

     “I know,” Wong said while meaning a thousand things more.

     Stephen curled into himself, wishing he could simply collapse inwards until he came out on the other side where he knew the hole inside his soul would be filled again.

 

     Wong held his friend as he wept, his heart breaking over the unfairness of it all.

* * *

_In Malibu, Stephen stood beside Tony and watched the waves of the ocean roll and break on the cliffs below. The debris of the house had long ago been cleaned up. Only the scars in the foundation still left hinted that there had once been a home standing where they were._

_“Are you sure about this, Tony?” It was hard to let caution in over the pride._

_“Positive.” Rough fingers, despite regular manicures, turned a smooth stone over again and again between them. There was a nervous, restless energy about him that Stephen couldn’t pin down. Different from his normal, somehow._

_“Then why are we here?” Arms spread, motioning to the entire cliff while shoving down the memories of the house exploding around them._

_“Because,” Tony’s arm drew back and the stone was launched out to fall several hundred feet into the water below. “this was always home for—for us.”_

_Stephen watched the arc of the stone, watched it fall until he couldn’t pick it out of the watery background. Tony moved beside him and when he turned to look, the man was lowering himself down onto one knee._

_Oh._

**_Oh._ **

 

_Not even the ocean below could match the powerful tsunami of joy when Stephen said “Yes.”_

* * *

     The world moved on. Society pieced itself back together bit by bit. Bleeding wounds healed into scars.

     The multiverse was quiet for a while, and Stephen had far too much time on his hands yet little desire for anything other than going through the items Tony had left at the Sanctum. His world did not move on. It ended before he even came back from the not-quite-dead.

     Pepper arranged a memorial service. It was grand and beautiful and _Tony Stark_ in every essence. Stephen did not speak. There weren’t words in any known language that could express the anguish. He couldn’t understand how Pepper and Rhodes were so ready and willing to leave him behind as nothing but a memory.

     Stephen twisted the gold band around his finger, listened to someone tell a story of Tony in his youth and bit the inside of his cheek as the crowd laughed. Of course, _they_ could laugh—their people had returned to them.

     The Avengers offered their condolences one by one, each of them sharing a memory until they were blurred together. He didn’t care. Half of them had abandoned him, thought of him as only his money and his past mistakes. Stephen was numb by the time Nick Fury and Agent Coulson, the last two of the team, came by to give him their pity.

     “Mis—Doctor Strange?”

     Peter Parker, the boy Tony treated as his own son, approached quietly. Tears still dripped from reddened eyes. God, this kid had lost his father, his uncle, and finally a friend and mentor that may as well have been his surrogate father. He was a good kid and didn’t deserve so much trauma and heartache so young. Spiderman had tried going back to his normal routine, but more often than not the teenage hero ended up swinging by the Sanctum to distract his mind from his fears and depression. Peter stood there and tried to look strong, tried to hold the tears back. He tried to speak but his lip trembled and his voice cracked.

     Stephen pulled him into a tight embrace and felt slim shoulders tremble and heave as a new wave of sobs spilled forth.

     “I’m so sorry, Peter,” Stephen whispered against the top of his head, tears stinging at his eyes.

     “Why?” The kid sniffled and wiped at his eyes as he backed out of the hug by a step. “It’s not your fault.”

     “I could have done more. I could have looked into more futures. I co—”

     “Doctor Strange, it’s _not_ your fault,” Peter grasped him by each arm, glistening brown eyes somehow still full of so much hope despite life trying so hard to extinguish it. “I could have done lots more too. We all could have done things differently, y’know?”

     “When did you grow up and get so wise?” Stephen huffed out strained laughter and pulled the kid back in.

     “I miss him,” His voice was small and muffled against the black robes.

     “I do too, Peter. Every damn day.”

     Comfortable silence settled between them except for the sniffs and hiccups of tears. Stephen held him for as long as he needed, until his tears ran dry. Funny how it was that a boy of a whole seventeen years could understand the hurt he felt. It wasn’t the same sort of love, but oh, Peter had loved him something fierce.

     “You wanna come with me and May and get some coffee or something?” Peter wiped his eyes again.

     Stephen did too. “I… yeah. Yeah, that would be nice.”

* * *

     The night was spent in a cheap apartment in a bad neighborhood with tears and peals of laughter.

     Three bottles of wine were finished between himself, May, and Peter (who they made swear not to tell anyone). Archived videos of all of Tony’s amazing failures while testing new features of his latest suits were watched, and fond memories shared.

     Stephen woke up to a stiff neck from sitting on the floor and using the couch May was asleep on as a pillow at an awkward angle. Peter snored quietly, his head in Stephen’s lap and the rest of his lanky teenage body curled up on the floor.

 

     Stephen was stiff, hungover, and dehydrated, but he wasn’t alone.

* * *

 _“I would rather be practicing sutures on raw chicken,” Stephen groaned to a fellow student_ — _Mike? Kevin? Nick?_ — _who was far too cheerful to be at this gaudy charity event._

 _The rented tux was uncomfortable and the people were unbearable with their forced smiles and pseudo courtesy. It was a colossal waste of his time_ — _time that could be put to something useful like studying._

_“That’s because,” An unknown voice that dripped sweet like syrup from the depths of a strong maple tree. “you’re in the wrong company.”_

_The man pushed his way into Stephen’s space in much the same way a politician would; every movement and every step confident and sure._

_He looked expensive in the dark charcoal suit, ash gray shirt, and black, silk tie decorated in geometric patterns only seen if caught in the right lighting. Dark brunette hair (that looked thick enough to let his fingers get lost in) pushed back and to the side, even darker and heavy lashes framing a pair of expressive brown eyes. Not just any dull brown, either. Brown like old varnish layered thick over a centuries-old painting, hiding and protecting beautiful secrets underneath. Wide lips cocked into a half grin, full of young and dumb ego._

_“That so?” Stephen licked his bottom lip, glanced up to feign interest in absolutely nothing within the crowd. He threw in an impassive sniff and uninterested sip from the glass of cheap whiskey he’d been holding more than drinking._

_“You have no use for a place or people like this. It’s all pretentious bullshit.”_

_Stephen spared him a glance while repressing a grin._

_“You’re a problem solver, quick on your feet, and,” Stephen felt a fire ignite in the pit of his stomach as those soulful eyes slowly drank him in from bottom to top, stopping directly in contact with his own eyes. “good with your hands.”_

 

 _As it turned out, Stephen_ was _able to lose his fingers in his hair._

_And his breath to his lips._

_And his voice to his name._

 

_“Tony,” Stephen breathed the name from deep within his lungs, broad hands splayed and bracing his weight against a bronze chest. He lifted his moonglow body up and came back down with a gentle roll that made Tony ache for so much more. Black hair not yet streaked with gray fell from its slicked back place, curling loosely towards the ends and sticking to the sweat beading his brow._

_“Tony—!” His back arched and his voice broke with sweet, desperate need._

 

_In the back of a limo, Tony Stark gave him everything he needed and wanted._

* * *

     “Earth to Doctor Strange, Master of the Mystic Arts, Sorcerer Supreme,” Wong’s voice jerked him out of the memory.

     Stephen blinked a few times and looked away from the window and to the man trying to get his attention.

     “Sorry, I was… remembering,” Gradually, the sorcerer lowered from where he levitated.

     Wong softened a touch, nodded, and moved on. He knew Stephen well enough by now to know who that memory was about and not to push. Especially not with what he had to say.

     “Steve Rogers has been calling. He says it is urgent.”

     Stephen’s sigh came from his toes, long and exasperated yet not entirely annoyed or unkind.

     “What now? Another relic? Some lone sorcerer running amuck?”

     Wong hesitated. This was a bad idea and he knew it. Yet it wouldn’t be right to keep it from him.

     “They received a message from the Guardians.”

     “Go on,” Arms crossed loosely and Stephen regarded him with guarded curiosity.

     “Stephen, they found his ship.”

 

* * *

_“There’s going to be a small ceremony held for the technique Christine and I came up with,” Stephen licked his lips, actually nervous for the first time in years. “I’d like you to come… as my date.”_

_Tony waved a hand and the holographic screens were pushed away. It was obvious he was trying not to smile._

_“Are you sure? What happened to being afraid of it tarnishing your reputation?”_

_“I don’t need reputation. My work speaks for itself. Besides, it’s no skin off my back if someone would rather have less capable hands operate on them just because I’m dating a man.”_

_Tony rolled his chair away from the desk, stood and walked around it to meet Stephen where he stood fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves._

_“Well, it’s about damn time. I hate keeping secrets, you know.”_

_“I know,” Stephen smiled with soft fondness. “And please_ — _leave the armor here.”_

_“Party pooper.”_

_“Another time.”_

_“Fine. I’m holding you to that. You’re gonna have a date with Iron Man one of these days. At that nice Italian place we like. Full armor. Might not even take the mask off.”_

_Stephen couldn’t roll his eyes hard enough, yet he laughed anyway._

* * *

     Stephen opened a portal right beside where Steve stood in one of the compound’s many conference rooms.

     No one seemed particularly surprised.

     Except for Peter Quill who was still live on their view screen and apparently scrambled to get Gamora’s attention about it.

     “You found his ship? Him?”

     “We believe so. Picked up an old signal on the frequencies common to Earth.” Gamora responded, her tone carefully guarded. “Doctor, if it is him, the chances that he is still alive—”

     “Are infinitesimal, I know.”

     Silence and tension fell upon them like an itchy woolen blanket.

     Nebula broke through the quiet after a few long minutes.

     “We’re here.”

 

     None of them, not even Drax who rarely sported emotion, could keep their expressions impassive. One by one their faces fell.

     They didn’t have to say it.

     It was his ship.

 

     Stephen was gone from the compound and aboard the Benatar within seconds.

* * *

_Tony Stark limped out of a C-17 with his arm in a sling and Rhodes delicately supporting his every move. Somehow, Tony still managed to stand tall and confident. He was too thin, his hair was too long, he needed to shave, and needed to sleep for about two weeks straight._

_But he was alive._

_At his side, Pepper squeezed his hand while holding back tears as Tony approached the two of them on the runway. He took a look around at the Air Force personnel, sniffed, then let his attention fall to Pepper._

_“Your eyes are red. Few tears for your long lost boss?”_

_“Tears of joy,” She said through a bright smile. “I hate job hunting.”_

_“Yeah, well,” Tired eyes landed on Stephen and his throat bobbed with a hard swallow. “Vacation’s over.”_

_With his good hand, Tony grabbed Stephen’s as he walked past and towards the car and held it like he’d never let it go again._

* * *

     The docking clamps attached with a dull thud.

     “Stephen, the ship is dead. Not even the backup life support systems are active. Are you sure about this?” Gamora laid a hand on his arm. Her concern was touching.

     “I am,” He patted her hand, his own trembling more than usual. “I need to know.”

     Rocket chimed in. “Knowin’ is one thing, doc. You don’t gotta go and hurt yourself like that.”

     “I am Groot.”

     “See?”

     Despite the circumstances, Stephen let a fragile smile through. “I appreciate the concern, and I don’t expect any of you to understand. But this is something I have to do.

 

     Magic cloaked his body in safety against the harsh elements of the dead ship.

     Stephen walked through the short terminal, opened the hatch door with a single gesture, and stepped inside.

* * *

_Too focused on the patient file that promised to bolster an already impressive record, Stephen didn’t see the tail light until it was too late._

_The car spun off the edge of the cliff, rolled and flipped multiple times on the way down, and landed nose down in chilly waters._

 

_Stephen opened one eye that wasn’t swollen shut fourteen hours later to Christine and Tony talking quietly and his hands in fixators._

_The deep and painful inhale and the spike in his heart rate alerted them to his consciousness. Tony’s eyes were red with heavy bags beneath them, and Christine could barely look at him._

_“What… did they do?” He croaked out, throat dry and lips swollen._

_“Take it easy, baby,” Tony placed a gentle hand on his thigh and fresh tears threatened to fall._

_“It—it took Tony a while to find you…” Christine’s voice shook._

_“What did they_ **_do_ ** _?” His snarl was weak, but still enough to make both of them wince._

_Neither of them could look at him while Christine donned her best professional tone._

_“Eleven stainless steel pins in the bones, multiple torn ligaments, severe nerve damage in both hands.”_

_“Oh, God…”_

_“Stephen, honey, you were on the table for eleven hours. No one could have done better.”_

_He swallowed the sandpaper in his throat and turned his head as much as he could to look directly at Tony._

_“_ **_I_ ** _could have done better.”_

_It was the truth and they all knew it._

_Christine excused herself and Tony squeezed his thigh tenderly._

_“Baby, I promise I’ll find a way to fix this.”_

 

_Stephen drained every penny to his name on experimental treatments, more surgeries, and multiple therapies. Tony devoted his entire R &D department to it. _

_Neither of them were successful._

_Neither of them stopped trying._

* * *

No atmosphere control.

No artificial gravity.

No temperature regulation.

There was very little difference between the inside of the ship and the vacuum of space outside. It was eerie and quiet enough that his own heartbeat seemed deafening. A simple spell was cast for a ball of light and it hovered over him as he walked, illuminated the darkness in a soft bluish glow. Anything that hadn’t been strapped down floated motionless until he pushed it from his path. Stephen knew there was no use actually searching the ship. There was only one logical place to look.

Stephen headed for the cockpit.

* * *

_Stephen lost count of how many times they had done this now. It seemed inevitable they would attend the same galas, charity events, science and technology conventions, or award ceremonies. He watched Tony grow into his new CEO role under the guidance of Stane, a man who rubbed him in all the wrong ways. Stephen watched him evolve a mask for the media and public and delighted when it was taken off just for him._

_They would disappear to storage closets, bathrooms, and empty offices at first. Eventually, Stephen started going home with him, started staying the night._

 

 _He looked over to Tony’s sleeping face beside him and felt a smile tug at his lips. Manhattan’s night time glow fell upon him through the huge windows of his penthouse suite—one he had been frequenting more often than his actual home in Malibu. He was soft like this, all his burdens and stress and sorrows suspended for a few blessed hours. The tension had long ago drained from his every atom, Stephen more than happy to take and take and_ take _until Tony was spent. His hair was a mess, lips parted slightly for deep and slow breaths, face half smashed into the pillow he hugged, and his neck and shoulders covered in Stephen’s claim. No matter how many times he saw Tony Stark raw and vulnerable like this, it made his stomach flutter and heart forget a beat or two._

 

_“I think I love you,” Stephen whispered and finally closed his eyes to drift to sleep with a warmth inside his heart._

* * *

Never had silence been so deafening as it was for him then. It was not like other silences which were, rather, lack of one dominant sound yet still enough small noises to fill the void. No, this was a true, total and complete silence. His blood rushed in his ears, his heart beat so loud he was sure the Guardians could hear it on their ship, and his every breath came in like the angry wind before a storm. It was disorientating to hear the basic workings of your own body, and just one of the many reasons Stephen liked to avoid actual space.

He rounded the doorway, telling himself he was ready while knowing he wasn’t.

 

The light from the orb increased, slowly pushing darkness back into the emptiness of space.

 

Stephen’s chest tightened, the weight of his sorrow crushing so hard he was almost positive it would collapse into the black hole it felt like. Strapped in one of the pilot’s seats, Tony Stark sat motionless, suspended in time.

Space was, at least, merciful in death.

Cold numbness ate Stephen away at his very core. He didn’t even feel himself take reluctant steps closer.

Tony was pale, his lips and fingertips tinged with blue and eyes shut. His head leaned to the side, pillowed by the chair’s head rest. Too skinny, even with the subtle swell of what little water had been left in his body trying to escape before it froze. He looked so peaceful, Stephen could almost pretend he was simply asleep.

Almost.

Cradled beneath his arm was the damaged remains of his helmet; the source of the distress call if he had to guess. Inside, a faint red light glowed on and off. Odd that Tony wouldn’t have shut it down once he knew the inevitable. Carefully, Stephen worked it out of the frozen grip of his would-be husband, his entire self functioning on autopilot to the point he barely knew if he was still in his physical body. A bit of magic was given to the nanite helmet, warming it just enough for its circuitry to function without risk of failing under such extreme cold. The eyes flickered a few times, stayed on, then projected into the empty space of the cockpit.

* * *

His hands nearly shook the helmet from their grasp as a hologram of Tony played before his eyes. It was distorted slightly and the brightness faded in and out. But it was Tony, still alive though just barely.

 _“This thing on?”_ The audio crackled. Stephen’s lungs ceased the ability to move any air for a few lingering seconds. Dull, metallic taps echoed in the speakers and Stephen released a shuddering breath.

 _“Hey, Doctor Strange,”_ The image of Tony spoke the formal name so endearingly. A subtle hint of teasing. Stephen wasn’t sure when he fell to his knees, his body too numb and attention purely on the recording.

“ _If you find this recording,_ ” Tony took a breath. Stephen could feel the burn in his own lungs as Tony struggled for precious little oxygen. “ _Don’t feel bad about this. Part of the journey is the end. For the record, being adrift in space with no hope of rescue isn’t all that bad. It’s a great view.”_ Tony turned his head, looking out of the window. Stephen realized he recorded it right there on the floor of the cockpit.

“ _You taught me the courage of stars before you left, you know. I remember once you told me how light carries on endlessly… even after death.”_ The hologram’s throat bobbed slowly as he swallowed around the dryness. His head returned to its original position, facing the helmet that recorded him.

“ _Food and water ran out four days ago… oxygen will run out tomorrow morning. And that’ll be it.”_ Tony’s voice broke. Stephen’s heart shattered.

“ _Do you remember,”_ He sucked in another short breath. “ _that night, out in the middle of nowhere—must’ve been almost ten years ago—we made love under the stars? You said, I’ll never forget, how the universe was made to be seen by my eyes.”_ Tony wheezed out a weak chuckle, and though it was small, his smile was still enough to make his eyes crinkle. “ _This isn’t exactly what I had in mind, babe.”_

The smile faded somewhat and Tony leaned forward. Stephen started to lean in instinctually, but stopped himself short.

“ _When I drift off, I will dream about you.”_

Tony reached forward and gave the helmet a gentle tap. His voice dropped to something just above a whisper and it strained to do even that much.

“ _It’s always you.”_

 

The last thing Stephen saw was Tony’s warm smile, so full of love and unspoken words. Then, the recording stopped.

 

The unavoidable _nothingness_ crashed into his senses and Stephen vaguely realized he wasn’t just crying but, rather, heaving out harsh sobs that refused to let him breathe and for half a heartbeat he hoped the breath wouldn’t return to his lungs and his heart wouldn’t keep painfully pounding.

* * *

They heard Stephen’s wails all the way back on the Benatar.

They heard his keens through the comms in the compound.

Haunting shrieks of pure, unfiltered anguish. Sorrow so powerful each and every one of them felt it like a punch to the gut.

* * *

“If not for him, I couldn’t have put a blade through that son of a bitch’s eye socket.” Nebula’s voice was quiet and soft. “I am… sorry I couldn’t save him, too.”

Magic shrouded the body, cloaked it from view and kept it stable. Stephen wondered if it took on the appearance of a sheet because he was accustomed to that on the operating table, or if that was just how the spell worked.

Stephen was worn thin from the extended use of magic and emotional distress. Still, he had work to do.

“Don’t be,” His voice was rough, throat raw and dry. “It would be the last thing he’d want. The last thing I want. Just…” Stephen glanced down to the covered body. The faintest hint of a smile touched his lips. “Don’t waste your life. Carry on his legacy and _live._ ”

 

Stephen stepped through the portal to the New York Sanctum where Wong waited to help carry out the process of restoring the body to a state in which it could be buried without the gruesome side effects.

* * *

The burial was a quiet, intimate affair.

Pepper, Happy, Rhodes, Peter, and himself were the only ones present. No speeches or memories or stories to be shared. Each had their turn to see him and say their final words. Stephen had already said so much to him over the last two days, and yet he still had more to say. Always more to say. He knew in his heart it was just to procrastinate the inevitable.

“I suppose it was going to be like this, anyway. You going before me, I mean. I just wish I could have been there,” Stephen inhaled a shaky breath as he reached down to arrange a few strands of hair. “I’m not ready for this, Tony. I don’t know—” His voice broke and fresh tears streamed down his cheeks. “I don’t know what to do now.”

For a while, Stephen stood there and let himself cry. He’d cried so much already that he wondered how he had any tears left at all. His chest and throat hurt from it and his body and mind were so beyond exhausted.

The cloak wrapped around him in a gentle embrace, enough to calm him momentarily.

“You were the best part of my life, I hope you know. Thank you, my love, for all that you gave me, for all that you gave the world.”

He bent over and pressed his lips against a cold forehead.

“I love you so much,” Stephen whispered and kissed again. “I’ll see you again someday. Wait for me.”

It took every ounce of pure willpower to force himself to turn and walk away from the casket.

Four pairs of arms, plus a cloak, embraced him tightly and he couldn’t quite stop the smile as he returned it.

There was a hole in his heart, but at least with the little family they had built, he knew he would be okay.


End file.
